Affettuoso
by Darthanne
Summary: Anxiously awaiting Trowa’s arrival for their first date, Quatre turns to an old friend to help settle his nerves. (AU, 3+4 )


Affettuoso

by Anne Olsen

Rating/warnings : This ficlet has been rated in accordance with the approved TTFF rating system.

OK (Oz/Kiwi spelling/grammar etc) – PG – AU, Romance, angst.

Pairing: 3+4

Author's notes: 'Affettuoso' means 'with tender feeling' and is a musical term. I've had this sitting on my hard drive for some time, and decided to dust it off and post it. The first story in this mini arc is called 'Serendipity' and can be read here – 

Summary: Anxiously awaiting Trowa's arrival for their first date, Quatre turns to an old friend to help settle his nerves.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the boys in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any broken bones or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction. 

Thanks to: Bast and Raletha for beta reading, and Sakura for beta reading and supplying the summary. 

Send comments to: anneo @ paradise.net.nz

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Winding his fingers tightly around his coffee cup, Quatre glanced at his watch again before taking another gulp of the bitter liquid. He grimaced. Not even sugar could improve the taste of the drink. Yes, drinking coffee was always a sure sign he was nervous. One of these days he was going to learn that the only thing caffeine did for him was to increase his edginess. 

Seven o'clock.

Five past seven.

Wasn't Trowa supposed to be here by now? Was it possible he'd been held up in traffic? Or maybe he was just running late or…maybe he wasn't coming?

Banging his cup on the table, Quatre groaned. _Stop being such a pessimist_, he chastised himself. Of course Trowa was still coming. He chuckled, remembering the last time he'd attempted to drink coffee.

Naturally Duo had denied having anything to do with Trowa's car breaking down, but Quatre didn't believe him. It had taken a while for help to arrive, and by that time Trowa was in no hurry to get home. Before he'd left he'd suggested they go out for a meal together - a meal he was now running extremely late for. 

Quatre had booked the restaurant: a nice intimate Chinese place in a quiet part of town. Trowa had promised to pick him up at seven, barring car trouble of course. 

Ten past seven. 

Where the hell was he? Quatre glanced down and noticed his hands were shaking. _This is ridiculous_, he thought. It must be first date nerves, very first date nerves. After all this wasn't just his first date with Trowa, it was his first date with anyone. What if he made an idiot of himself? What if things didn't work out between them?

He needed to calm himself, and quickly. It really wouldn't do to be acting like this when Trowa arrived… _if_ Trowa arrived. Quatre sighed, eyes darting towards the couch where his hopefully soon to be lover had sat only two days before. As Trowa had stroked the kitten while listening to his niece playing her violin, he had seemed so very relaxed.

Music, that was the answer; it had always worked in the past. Rising to his feet, Quatre left the abandoned coffee cup in the sink. Settling himself on the old oak piano stool, he ran his fingers lightly over the ivory keys. This piano had been the only thing his father had allowed him to take when he'd left home, although he suspected it was only because Iria, his older sister, had insisted. 

The instrument had belonged to his mother; she'd died when he was a toddler, killed in a random hit and run. His memories of her were few, but vivid: the softness of her voice, the smell of her perfume, and the way she'd always held him close and promised never to leave him. Quatre didn't blame her for dying – but when he'd been so distraught afterwards, the only thing able to calm him had been Iria playing their mother's favourite pieces on this piano. 

Iria had given him this book for his birthday shortly following their mother's death. It was a special edition she'd found containing the tunes they both knew and loved. "One day," she said, "I'll teach you to play." 

She'd kept that promise. 

And ever since during the times in his life when he'd been unable to cope, he would sit in front of the keyboard and let the music work its magic, just as he was attempting to do now. 

Retrieving the old book from the lid of the piano, Quatre flipped through the pages until he found the piece he'd decided to play. He wasn't sure why he still felt the need to have the music in front of him; he knew all the pieces in this book from memory. He suspected the book itself, the familiar notes written on the yellowing manuscript, offered as much comfort as the music itself. Shaking his head at his choice, he couldn't help but laugh. The last time he'd heard 'Pachelbel's Canon' it had been played by a solo flute, and now he was attempting to use it to keep his mind off his upcoming date with a man who played the same instrument.

His left hand beginning the ostinato bass, he took solace in the repeated motif as it was gradually filled out by the chords, and then finally by the addition of the right hand. Quatre closed his eyes; tears often accompanied the memories of his mother and Iria playing this tune. Finally he stopped, unable to continue as a lone droplet of water connected with the keyboard. The last time Iria had played this, he'd accompanied her on his violin. It had been shortly before he'd told his father about his 'preferences', and was the last happy memory of home before he'd been thrown out. Why on earth had he chosen this tune in an attempt to calm himself? He always became emotional when he played it, there were too many memories attached to it.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and he turned, torn between the hope that it was Trowa, and the realisation that the other man would have seen his emotional display. "Trowa? What?"

"You left the door unlocked," Trowa explained, smiling, "and when you didn't answer, I let myself in." He paused, his eyes reflecting an almost wistful yearning. "The music you were playing…it was beautiful. It touched me, and not many pieces do that. But…"

"But?" Quatre shivered, thoughts tumbling through his mind in an attempt to work out what might be coming next. 

"It felt as though it wasn't complete," Trowa placed a small case on top of the piano. "This piece is supposed to be played as a duet, not a solo." He opened the case and began piecing together his flute, bringing it to his lips to test the tuning. A pure clear note filled the room, but instead of replying in words, Quatre turned back the pages of his book to replay the piece from the beginning. 

The flute joined in after the first motif, gently weaving a counter tune above and through the existing melody. It was the tune as Quatre had always heard it and yet it wasn't. It was improvisation from the heart, and yet matched perfectly with what he was playing himself. They finished the piece and began another, this one not written anywhere but instead drawn from within. Both instruments complemented each other; what one lacked the other was able to supply as they joined each other in a melody fuelled by yearning, emotion and the subtle hints of what might one day become more.

Eventually Quatre stopped playing, content to just listen. Finally lowering his flute, Trowa smiled, and Quatre knew his earlier fears had been completely ungrounded.

Trowa leaned over, his lips brushing against Quatre's and the blond moved closer to return the kiss. Running his hands gently through Quatre's hair, Trowa brushed a stray lock off his face as they broke away for a moment, their eyes meeting in a first tentative glance into each other's souls.

"Trowa?" Quatre asked, placing a finger on the other man's lips.

"Hmm?" Trowa's hands felt firm against his buttocks, pulling him back into a close embrace. 

"You know that Chinese restaurant?" Quatre smiled. "I believe they do great take-out."

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Fin

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